Winter of Secrets (14 page)

“Hey,” Rob said. “What’s all this? Has something happened?”

“Yes,” Wendy’s thin chest rose with indignation. “There has been a theft and these cops refuse to do anything about it. I’m going to make a complaint.”

“Oh, put a sock in it, Wendy,” Alan said in a tired voice. “Hard as it is to believe, this isn’t about you.”

Wendy sputtered.

“Where the hell’d you get to anyway?” Alan said. “We couldn’t find you when it was time to leave.”

“I got a ride back.” Jeremy Wozenack smirked at Smith.

“Coulda told us,” Alan mumbled. He led the way to the stairs. Smith and Sophie followed.

The upstairs corridor was wide enough to have a thin-legged mahogany table up against the wall, holding magazines and tourist brochures. The wallpaper was stripped pink and cream above the wainscoting. Paintings of historical scenes lined the walls. Whiskered men in suits and ties or overalls and women in long dresses and big hats.

Alan and Sophie’s room was at the top of the stairs. Alan opened the door and allowed Sophie and Smith to enter. “Do you normally lock the door, sir?” Smith had not failed to notice that, this time at least, it hadn’t been.

“In a respectable place like this? I didn’t think it necessary. Maybe I was wrong.”

The room was spacious and tastefully decorated. A beautiful quilt made out of interlocking blocks of cream and blue covered the king-sized bed. Large pillows in matching colors were piled against the headboard. A small table beside the window held a single-serving coffee pot, kettle, and a basket overflowing with coffee, tea bags, condiments, and individual-sized packets of cookies.

Smith stood in the doorway. “Does someone come to tidy up and make the bed every day?”

Sophie plopped her plump behind onto the bed. The headboard hit the wall. “They’d better, for what this place is costing us.”

“Does Mrs. Carmine do the cleaning?”

“Her or her daughter, Kathy.”

There was a wide chest of drawers, matching night tables on each side of the bed, and a cabinet underneath the flat-screen TV. Smith stuffed her hands into her jacket pocket, and watched Alan pull out the drawers, starting at the bottom. He hadn’t closed the door and sound travelled quite well up the stairs. Wendy’s voice was steadily rising.
That girl needs some serious help before she goes right over the edge
, Smith thought. It seemed, from the little Smith had seen, that her parents were too wrapped up in their own grief over Jason’s death to pay Wendy much attention.

Easy to spot the place where they kept their drugs. Alan maneuvered his body to block Smith’s view, and Sophie jumped off the bed and made a big fuss of checking out the bedside table, presumably to distract the police’s attention.

Not Smith’s concern.

Not now.

Downstairs Wendy was saying something about Ewan’s taste in women. She really didn’t like the guy. Reminded Smith of when they’d been in school and her brother, Sam, had been friends with Doug Whiteside, one of the star baseball players. A real piece of work he was. Lucky despised him, but Sam wouldn’t hear a word against him. Smith wondered what had happened to the baseball player. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’d gone into politics.

“Hell, Sophie.” Alan’s hand came up from the right side of the top drawer. “It’s here.”

She ran over and he handed her a wad of colored bills. She flicked through it, counting. Alan held a silver credit card in his hand. “Is it all there, Sophie?”

“
Oui
.”

He turned toward Smith, his embarrassed grin beneath tousled black curls making him look a lot like the actor Hugh Grant. “I’m really sorry about all this. I guess with what happened to Jason and Ewan we’re all on edge.”

“Not a problem. It’s happened before. Like Mom…I mean Mrs. Smith, said people get things mixed up. Your friend Wendy seemed somewhat quick on the draw to pin it on Lorraine though.”

“Wendy’s upset, you know. Her brother just died.”

“I understand.”

“Him and Ewan…”

“What?”

“Nothing. Wendy loved her brother, that’s all.” But Alan’s face was flushed, and Smith knew there was more behind the statement than he was prepared to reveal.

“Let’s go downstairs and let everyone know the good news. You should both come, Sergeant Winters has some questions.”

“Sure,” he said.

Sophie stuffed her money into the pocket of her long wool sweater.

They trooped out of the room. Alan shut the door behind them.

“Sophie has the top two drawers,” he said to Smith, in that distant tone a person takes on when they’re really talking to themselves. “It wasn’t me who moved things.” He raised his voice. “You need to be more careful, Sophie, your carelessness could have caused a lot of trouble.”

She turned, her dark eyes full of Gaelic fury. “Me, I always place my money under my socks, always. Since I was a little girl.” She spoke to Smith. “Always on vacation we went to London or to Paris or Vienna. Always we stayed in the best hotels and always my mother told me to hide my valuables beneath my socks. Thieves, she said, do not think about a woman’s socks. I do not put my money under my nightgowns. Never.”

She stalked off toward the staircase.

Alan lifted one eyebrow toward Smith. “Sometimes,” he said, “we forget what our mommy taught us.”

She grinned. “In my experience when criminal masterminds are searching for the loot they rarely avoid a woman’s sock drawer.”

She settled her face back into serious, professional lines at the sight of the furious woman waiting for them at the top of the stairs.

Chapter Fourteen

The scene might have been plucked directly from a book written in the Golden Age of the mystery novel. The detective, the collection of suspects, the housekeeper wringing her hands on her apron, the fire burning cheerfully in the fireplace, comfortable armchairs, Christmas decorations and a festive tree, outside lights shining on fat snowflakes. The maid bringing in a tray with teapot, cups, milk and sugar, and a plate of cookies. Although in the stories the maid didn’t drop the tray onto the table so hard the mugs jumped, collapse into a vacant chair, and say, “I hope, Sergeant Winters, that you are not using the excuse of being called to a crime scene to interrogate these people.”

He took a star-shaped cookie sprinkled with red sugar. “Coincidences happen, Lucky. I was headed this way when the request for an officer came over the radio. So I took it. As for interrogating anyone, that’s a harsh word for a simple detective asking questions about the death of two men known to these people. If you, Lucky, would prefer not to be
interrogated
, you’re free to leave.”

Ellie Carmine reached over and patted her friend’s knee. “I’d like Lucky to stay.”

Lucky Smith was much too polite to smirk.

They had nothing new to say. Ewan Williams went out the evening of December twenty-third and wasn’t at breakfast the next morning. No one among his friends considered that to be anything worth worrying about.

“Shacked up with a girl he’d met at the resort, we all assumed,” Wendy said, stirring milk into her tea. Her hand was shaking so badly the edges of the spoon rattled against the cup. “When it came to a quick pick-up, Ewan liked to scrape the bottom of the barrel.”

John Winters was getting very, very tired of Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth.

“Come on Wendy, that’s unfair,” Rob said. “He liked women. Women liked him.”

“He did not ‘like women’.” Wendy crushed a Christmas cookie between her fingers. Pale crumbs fell onto her lap. “He liked sex. There’s a difference, you know. That he’s dead doesn’t change the fact that he was an arrogant bastard.”

Jeremy gave a mean laugh, and selected a mince tart. “Way to go, Wendy. Tell it like it is. Ewan didn’t give a shit for women. He wanted sex, and he knew how to get it. He was a good looking guy with a deep voice, and a lot of money to throw around.”

Winters said nothing.

“And well hung, whew. He was almost as big as me.” Jeremy laughed. No one else did. “He was short and skinny, but I guess he thought the size of his prick made up for that. Ewan would have screwed anything that moved on two legs. Although I’m only guessing at the two legs bit. Wouldn’t have surprised me if, when supply ran short, he’d gone after the four legged ones as well.”

Ellie Carmine sucked in a breath.

“So, Lieutenant or Sergeant or whatever you are, if you’re wondering why we weren’t all that concerned about our missing pal, we assumed he was warm and comfy in some slut’s bed, or, failing that, rutting in a stable somewhere. And, as long as we’re talking things out, Jason wasn’t…”

A side table, all gold gilt on spindly legs, crashed to the floor. A mug bounced on the rug, spilling tea. “Don’t you dare say anything against Jason,” Wendy shouted. She was on her feet, her face red and her fists clenched.

“Earth to Wendy. The truth is out there.” He stuffed the entire tart into his mouth.

Rob helped Wendy back to her seat. “Never mind him. Jeremy’s always been a jealous bugger. Any woman who preferred Ewan or Jason to him obviously had something wrong with her.”

“Enough,” Winters said, before Jeremy could reply. “I’m not interested in your petty rivalries.” Although he definitely was, but it was time to move this on. Ewan Williams left the B&B apparently looking for some action. Until they found the woman, if she existed, that led Winters precisely nowhere.

“I don’t see why you’re wasting everyone’s time with all these questions,” Rob said. “In his own crude way, Jeremy’s probably right. Ewan spent Sunday night and Monday with a girl he’d picked up. None of your business, unless that’s become a crime and no one bothered to tell us. Then he called Jason and they managed to find a bar that was open, had a couple of drinks to give them some Christmas spirit and ended up in the river on the way back here. Sad, but not criminal.”

“It’s my time to waste,” Winters said. “Did Jason get a phone call on Christmas Eve?”

“I don’t know! We didn’t keep him under armed guard, you know. Can’t you check his phone calls or something?”

Everyone knew too much these days, or thought they did, about police methods. Ewan and Jason both had cell phones on them. Completely ruined by their immersion in the icy river. Winters had put in a request for the phone records of the dead men but had yet to hear back. It was a slow week everywhere.

“Tell me about Jason,” he said.

“Jason, my brother, was…,” Wendy began.

Winters lifted a hand. Bad choice of words. He wasn’t here to listen to the virtues, as many as they might be, of Jason Wyatt-Yarmouth. “I mean, tell me about the day after Ewan’s disappearance. The…” Wendy was staring at him. Her eyes and nose were red, the skin around her eyes puffy. She lifted a tissue to her face.

Never mind all the doubts he had about this crowd: Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth was a woman in mourning, and in a precarious mental state.

Footsteps on the stairs.

Sophie first, then Alan, Molly Smith following. No one needed to ask if they’d located the missing goods. Sophie didn’t look at anyone, and Alan gave them an embarrassed grin. Smith nodded imperceptibly to Winters.

“Found it,” Alan said. “Just a misunderstanding.”

“What the hell.” Wendy jumped to her feet. “You can’t have found it. Someone went through Sophie’s stuff.”

“Why are you so sure of that, Ms. Wyatt-Yarmouth?”

“Everything’s so fucked up.” She dropped into her chair. “Can we please get this over with?”

Ellie Carmine gave Lucky Smith a huge smile. The thought of someone’s valuables being stolen from her B&B must have been an enormous worry. She selected a gingerbread man and bit his head off.

Lucky picked up the plate and held it out to her daughter. Smith accepted, but she shook her head when Lucky indicated the tea pot.

“We were talking about your brother, Ms. Wyatt-Yarmouth,” Winters said, absent-mindedly rubbing his thumb against the face of his watch. “I’m sure this is going to be difficult for you, but I need to know.”

She nodded and wiped her eyes.

“You went skiing on the twenty-forth?”

“Yes,” Alan answered. “All of us, except Ewan. He wasn’t here for breakfast so we left without him.”

“Jason was with you?”

“Yes.”

“Anything of interest happen at Blue Sky?”

“Nothing I can remember.”

“Did Jason seem to be bothered about anything? Something on his mind maybe?”

The friends looked at each other. Sophie shrugged; the boys shook their heads.

“He was just Jason,” Alan said, “Same as always.”

“Did you come back to town together?”

Rob answered. “Yeah. All of us, except for Ewan. Jason drove. He usually did.”

“And when you got back?”

“It was Christmas Eve. I’ve never seen a town shut down the way this one does. Every bar locked up as tight as if it were a Sunday in Saskatchewan in 1952. The restaurant in the Koola Hotel was about the only thing open, so we went there. Come to think of it, the food was about the same as they’d have served in Saskatchewan in 1952.”

No one laughed. Outside, the snow continued to fall.

“We got back around seven.”

Wendy rose to her feet. She stood straight and held her head high on a long neck. “If you don’t mind,” she said. “I’d like to go upstairs now.” Her eyes were very wet. “I’m supposed to be having dinner with my parents again tonight. I don’t think I can bear it.”

Lucky put down her cup. “Can I help you? I’ve nothing to add to the conversation.”

Lucky took Wendy’s silence as agreement. She led the girl toward the stairs.

The common room was quiet until their footsteps reached the upper floor.

“Say what you want about Wendy,” Rob said. “She and her brother loved each other. I think she relied on him a lot.”

“And, despite the way she talks about him now, she had a crush on Ewan,” Mrs. Carmine said.

Sophie snorted. “Hardly.”

“She’s a nut bar,” Jeremy said. “Even Jason knew it.”

“You ate dinner at the Koola Hotel,” Winters tried to get them back on track, “and got back here around seven. What then?”

Alan grinned and Sophie blushed and Winters took a wild guess as to what they’d been doing. Jeremy shrugged. Rob chewed a fingernail.

“I for one,” Mrs. Carmine said, “was preparing for our Christmas Eve get together. Jason told me his family always had a light supper at midnight, and everyone opened one special gift. Over the holidays I try to create a home-like atmosphere for my guests.”

“We watched a video,” Jeremy said. “Wendy and Rob and me.”

“Some old Christmas movie Wendy found in the pile under the TV.” Rob nodded toward the shelves stocked with video cassettes and DVDs. “What was it called?”

“
It’s a Wonderful Life
. Black and white and deadly boring.”

“I liked it.”

“You would.”

“And Jason?” Winters asked, cutting off Rob’s reply. “What did he do?”

“Went out,” Jeremy said. “Soon as we got back. Took the car.”

“Where did he go?”

The three boys exchanged glances.

Smith moved away from the wall.

“Didn’t say,” Alan said, at last.

“But you can guess,” Winters said.

Jeremy spoke first. “He’d picked up a local girl. She was here the previous night, testing out the mattress. I assumed he’d gone to meet her.”

“Jason and Ewan were sharing a room, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Ewan didn’t have a problem with the mattress being tested in his room?”

“I don’t know what Ewan had a problem with and what he didn’t,” Rob said.

“Come on, Rob. I bet this cop’s been around the block more than a few times. Probably even with that young constable, eh?” Jeremy leered at Smith.

Smith kept her face impassive; only the veins in her neck moved.

Good thing Lucky Smith had left the room
, Winters thought. Otherwise she’d no doubt want to contribute to the conversation at this point
.

“Tell me about the relationship between Ewan and Jason, Jeremy.”

“They got on well ‘cause when it came to girls they were opposites. Ewan liked the prowl. Back alleys, back yard sheds, back bedrooms, back streets. He’d do it anywhere. With anyone. Whereas Jason liked to find a girl and keep her close, for a while. Less work that way. They were never allowed to spend the night, because Ewan would be coming back at some time. Except when he didn’t.”

“You really are a bastard, aren’t you?” Rob said.

“He’s telling it like it was,” Alan said. His boyish smile had gone and his handsome face had turned dark. He tossed a glance at Sophie, and she studied the polish on her fingernails.

Winters filed that reaction away for later, and spoke before they could start exchanging insults. “We know Jason went out after dinner, in the rented SUV. You assumed he was going to meet a young lady.”

“If that’s what you want to call her.”

“He didn’t return?”

“I didn’t see him.”

Alan leaned up against the fireplace mantel and Sophie’d taken a chair at the other side of the room where she spent her time picking up the Christmas Village ornaments, one at a time, and turning them in her fingers. “
Alain
and I,” she said, “came down around half-past eleven. In my family also we celebrate on Christmas Eve. Mrs. Carmine gave us supper. We waited for them for a long time, but Jason and Ewan, they did not come. Only,” Sophie pointed at Smith with her chin, “she came. With the bad news.”

Mrs. Carmine dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. Overhead a floorboard creaked. Lucky Smith listening from the top of the stairs.

“This girl Jason had supposedly set up with,” Smith said. “Do you know her name?”

“Of course,” Jeremy said. “Lorraine. The one Wendy’s always in such a kerfuffle about.”

***

The front door opened with a gentle creak. Light footsteps sounded in the hallway. They hesitated and then went into the kitchen. Winters jerked his head toward Smith, but before she could take a step, Mrs. Carmine shouted. “Kathy, get in here.”

The girl’s head popped into the common room.

“Hey,” Jeremy said, “Come on in. The more the merrier.”

She took small, hesitant steps forward, eyes locked on the floor.

“Where have you been?” Mrs. Carmine shouted. “Gone for the whole day. I had to finish all the chores myself. And with my back.”

“Sorry,” Kathy mumbled into the carpet.

Smith stretched a kink in her neck and happened to look at Rob Fitzgerald. His face was beet red and he also was examining the carpet as if the secret of life were to be found therein.

Kathy Carmine stood in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot, looking like a dog that had peed on the carpet, while Winters asked if she’d seen Jason after he’d left on Christmas Eve. She mumbled something that sounded like “No.”

Winters glanced at Smith. She gave him a slight nod to indicate, she hoped, that she knew what was going on. And it didn’t have anything to do with the case. Of course, she was a raw recruit to this interrogation and secret signal business; she might have just told him that Kathy was a mass murderer.

Winters got to his feet. “Thank you for your help, everyone. That’s all the questions I have at this time. If you think of anything else that happened the nights in question, no matter how minor it appears, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know.”

He placed several business cards on the coffee table and walked out.

Smith followed.

Mrs. Carmine started shouting at her daughter. “I had to make all the beds myself, and with my bad back.”

Kathy burst into tears and darted out of the room, almost knocking Smith into the wall. Rob Fitzgerald was heading equally fast for the stairs.

This overly decorated B&B was a proper den of iniquity.